


Kinds of Love

by AifasInTheSky



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, Pining, Pining Medic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-30
Updated: 2018-09-30
Packaged: 2019-07-20 11:54:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16136696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AifasInTheSky/pseuds/AifasInTheSky
Summary: A story about hoping, and hurting, and healing.





	Kinds of Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Wireskull](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Wireskull).



The first time, he thinks nothing of it.

“I _love_ this doktor!”

They are in the middle of a battle. They are surrounded but they have the Über, and there they are, mowing down enemies and high in the feeling and he laughs, laughs and laughs.

When the area is cleared and they walk away, stepping between corpses and bullet shells and puddles of blood, the high is still there. He is ecstatic by the results of his experiments. He defeated death, yet again.

He grabs Heavy by the shoulder. Heavy turns his head, looks at him with a bright grin.

“We did it, mein freund.”

“Da, Doktor.”

That night when he finally turns off the lights and curls up on the bed he finds himself with a smile in his face and a restless heart.

\-----

The second time, he feels warmth.

He is running across the red dirt of the Badwater Basin. The heat of the sun makes his hair stick to his forehead with sweat. He can hear the battle cries of the BLU team coming from the tunnel. His own team has had enough lows that its remaining members have retreated to recover, regroup. He is on his way.

“Medic!”

He hears Heavy’s voice at the top of the hill. He sounds hurt, very badly hurt.

He hesitates. He could leave him behind, let him respawn – it would be quicker, and he could avoid a potential trip to respawn himself and wasting precious time for the team. But something tells him to go back; something he has started to relate to tea and nouvelles and chess.

Well, they can always use Heavy’s strength.

He pivots and starts running up the hill and he finds him, and oh, he was right. Heavy is thrown on his back behind a rock formation, clutching at his side with one big hand. His legs are bent in awkward angles, and his forehead is bleeding profusely. Sasha lies a few feet away from him.

“Dok-” he starts, but a terrible, wet cough interrupts him. He spits blood on the floor.

“Shhh,” he placates, and readies his medigun.

A red halo envelops the giant, the healing mist treating his wounds. His legs make a sickening crack as his femora, tibiae and fibulae relocate themselves. Heavy retreats his hand from the gaping hole in his torso, which gets smaller and smaller with each second.

The yells get closer.

The cut on his forehead closes.

Heavy makes a sharp intake of breath and starts gasping, breathing heavily, greedily. His hands go to his legs and find their place on his knees, grasping them, rubbing them. In just a matter of seconds he is recovered, good as new.

“There, there.” He directs a small smile at his patient, extending a hand to help him up. They need to hurry.

Heavy is still a bit shaken. He looks up to the sky for a moment and exclaims, laughing, almost disbelieving: “I _love_ this doktor!”

He feels a rush of fondness.

“Ja, ja, come on, Heavy. We have to go.”

“Da,” Heavy replies, taking his hand. The moment he gets to his feet he rushes towards his discarded gun.

They hear an explosion.

Their enemies are almost here.

“Behind me, doktor!” Heavy commands and starts running. He follows him.

He only realizes he is grinning when his cheeks start to hurt.

\-----

The third time, they are in the infirmary.

He is organizing some notes on his latest experiment – he cannot afford to mix them with his monthly medical reports, that would be really, really bad – when someone knocks the door.

“Ach, what do you want?”

“Doktor?”

He immediately straightens. Heavy has become his favorite patient. He goes along with most of his ideas, lets him test new theories. Also he usually holds with him the most engaging conversations.

“Come in!” he shouts as he hurriedly slams all his documents into the nearest desk drawer.

Heavy slowly opens the door and comes in. He looks hesitant. It is strange – he knows he is welcome here.

“Come on, close the door,” he urges. Heavy does so, softly, and stands there, shifting his weight on his feet, looking at the floor. “What is the matter, mein freund?”

Heavy looks at him, startled. “I, uhh…” he starts, then clears his throat, and tries again. “Wanted to ask Doktor uhh… favor.” His cheeks turn red.

His heart stutters.

“What is it, Heavy?” he asks, berating his schtupid organ.

“I…” Heavy shuffles his foot on the floor. He looks up. “You have books, da?”

“Yes, I do,” he answers, dumbfounded. “In fact, you have already seen my private library. Why do you ask?”

“Yes. Is true.” Heavy nods. “I also know you have books in Russian. Russian novels. But… Do you have… book in Russian… to spare?”

“… Of course, you know you can borrow them anytime-”

“Not for borrowing,” he says, then he blushes – blushes! – again. “Yana’s birthday is coming and I… couldn’t get…”

He feels, for the first time in a very long time, a pang in his chest. He had not thought much of the Administrator’s ban on outings, because he was and is more than happy to stay on the base and work on his personal projects. Except a passing thought on the further mess Soldier might cause, which he tossed aside in favor of dedicating himself to his work.

Heavy loves his family. He must feel terrible, not being able to purchase a proper gift for his sister.

“Say no more,” he interrupts him, and rushes to his adjacent room. He doubts he has a fitting book for a young lady, but he _does_ have some engaging novels…

“Ahah!”

He returns triumphantly with a tome in hand.

“Is this a good choice?” he asks, just in case. “I hope you do not have this one back home already.”

“Nyet,” says Heavy, inspecting the book, eyes bright. “I have read this before. Great book. But lost it when they came for us.” His gaze hardens for a moment, and he has a sudden urge to punch Stalin in the nose. But the moment passes, and Heavy looks back up at him, quizzically. “Is really okay?”

“Of course, mein freund,” he confirms with a nod and a reassuring smile.

Heavy beams.

“I _love_ this doktor!” he shouts, and gives him a big, tight hug.

He cannot help but gasp, both for the sudden lack of air and for the welcome warmth that surrounds him.

Heavy releases him, still grinning, and he cannot help but grin back, heart beating fast.

“Thank you, Doktor.”

“Ach, think nothing of it.”

\-----

It is said in more instances. It is said, in fact, a lot.

“I _love_ this doktor!”

When Heavy is healed on the battlefield.

“I _love_ this doktor!”

When he gives Heavy the Über.

“I _love_ this doktor!”

When they all are having fun in the rec room and he tells a joke that makes Heavy guffaw and slap his knee in mirth.

“I _love_ this doktor!”

When they are in a medical check up and he tells him he found a way to make his lungs work better, his bones be sturdier, his teeth grow back faster.

“I _love_ this doktor!”

When he plays a chess match against Demoman and wins.

“I _love_ this doktor!”

When Heavy talks to the doves that take a seat on his shoulders.

One would think that being repeatedly told the same would make it lose meaning, make one immune to the words, like a flu shot.

That is not the case.

Every single time Heavy tells him he loves him, he feels warm. He feels exhilarated. He feels giddy, like he was told he has been sent a giant cargo of animal organs to work with. He feels like a young man all over again.

He is drunk in it.

\-----

He is afraid, sometimes, of the strength of this feeling.

He tries to tame his heart at first, tries to convince it of the inconvenience that it is. He is at work. He is at war. He is too busy and there is no time for such trivial things as love.

With every declaration of love, with every time Heavy’s eyes light up in his presence, it sounds less and less of a trivial matter.

After a while, he does not reprimand himself anymore.

He allows himself to hope.

\-----

And that is, in the end, his downfall.

\-----

He learns what it means in an awful way.

They are on the battlefield again. He is alone, and he is hurt – pretty badly, to be honest; the residual effects that the medigun has in him can only work so fast. He has retreated behind some boxes in the hopes of passing unnoticed by the enemy, at least until he heals enough to make a run for it and find his teammates.

He is found instead.

“Doktor!” Heavy gasps, surprised. The worry in his eyes twists his guts, happy and guilty at the same time.

“Hello, mein freund,” he says from the floor, chuckling despite the pain. When Heavy is there, the world is a better place.

“You are badly hurt,” Heavy frets, pupils mapping his wounds, fury and concern battling in his gaze. His heart makes a little flip in his thorax.

Heavy turns around and searches his pockets. He retrieves one of his famous sandviches.

“Here, take this. This will help.”

He takes it with care of his wounds, and takes a bite of it. He munches it in seconds.

He already feels much better.

“Danke, Heavy,” he says fondly, a smile in his face.

Heavy smiles back, utter care in his gaze.

“Is nothing, Doktor.”

Heavy reaches an arm to help him up and he cannot help himself.

He pulls on Heavy’s arm and makes him lose his balance.

Heavy falls, surprised, on his lap.

He captures Heavy’s lips in a kiss.

He closes his eyes and savors the contact. He moves his mouth, caresses Heavy’s lower lip, nuzzles his cheek. He smiles, almost laughs, lost in the giddiness of the moment.

He opens them.

Heavy is staring at him with wide, confused eyes. With sadness.

With fear.

His stomach turns. He feels sick. He backs away so suddenly that he hits his head against the boxes behind him. He cannot run away, he is trapped between the floor and Heavy’s weight.

Dumb. Schtupid. Utter dummkopf.

“Doktor-”

“Nein, Heavy,” he cuts him off, trying to push his big body off him. “It is not the moment. Come on, move, move, schnell.”

“Wait, Dok-” Heavy pauses. Hears the enemy Soldier yelling nonsense from not far away. Takes a deep breath. Starts getting up. “Alright.”

Heavy extends him a hand, then hesitates. He curses under his breath and heaves himself off the floor with effort, hurt in more ways than one.

He thinks his heart, and his pride, hurt the most now.

He brushes the dust off his clothes.

“Come on, go ahead.”

He can almost see Heavy’s inner battle. Then something clicks.

He has made a decision.

“Behind me, Doktor.”

He does not want to, but what other options does he have?

He nods.

He follows Heavy while cursing his blurry sight.

\-----

They get separated in the battle, and they do not search each other.

Every time their gazes cross, they look away.

Is it going to be like that, now?

He does not want to think about the aftermath. He does not want to think about his empty infirmary. He does not want to think about untouched chess pieces, about dozens of cups of tea all for himself alone.

He does not want to think about Heavy.

As soon as the fighting ends, he rushes to the infirmary, locks the door. Thirty four red eyes look at him from above.

Archimedes flies down and sits on his shoulder.

His closed fists tighten.

\-----

He tries his best to shake this awful feeling away.

On the battlefield he relishes on drawing blood from his enemies, puncturing their lungs, extracting their intestines.

Piercing their hearts.

He tries to get lost in the reverie of the carnage, in the melody of their screams, their cries for help, their pleas to make it stop.

Demoman comments on it one day.

“Hell, Doc. That was a bloody mess.”

He glares at him between gasps. He is surrounded by the gutted corpses of the enemy Soldier, Scout and Pyro. Their chests are open, displayed. Vulnerable.

“Mind your business, Herr Demoman.”

“Easy, Doc,” he tries to placate him, hands up. “Just saying.”

Is this not in their job description? Are they not hired to kill?

He sighs. Closes his eyes.

“Go ahead. I have the Über ready. I will be right behind you.”

Demoman’s gaze shifts for a moment to a spot at his left, then nods.

“Alright, mate.”

He cannot help but look in that direction. Heavy is standing there, watching him, something undefinable in his eyes.

He cannot do this now.

He turns away and follows Demoman into the fray.

\-----

He spends his free time doing research in the infirmary.

He is lucky he stacked on body parts. The first tests he does end with explosions and a very dirty, very happy Archimedes.

He soon regains his composure, though. And he dedicates himself to it, trying, testing, jotting down results, theorizing.

He keeps his mind busy.

One day, while he is working on improvements for a pig stomach, he thinks briefly of how happy Heavy would be of getting rid of his recent reflux problem.

The pang of sadness he feels almost makes him drop the organ to the floor.

\-----

After a couple of weeks, when he thinks he can keep his emotions in check, he starts doing the team’s medical check-ups again.

When he announces it, he finds everyone reluctant to show up. It does not matter – they will have to anyway.

He hands Scout over his medication, keeps an eye on Sniper’s kidneys, reassures Engineer about his lungs.

It is late when his last patient comes in.

“Hello, Doktor.”

He closes his eyes. He is glad of having his back turned to the door. He might or might not have taken longer than necessary to reorganize his tools on purpose.

“Ah, guten abend, Herr Heavy.” He turns. Avoids his gaze. “We will make this quick, do not worry.”

“Is no problem.”

He heads over to his desk and retrieves Heavy’s file. Skims it – he already knows it by heart, as much as he would like not to.

He looks up.

Heavy is still standing there, watching the floor, as if it would give him an answer. He seems to find it – he looks up, squares his shoulders and walks towards the gurney.

He does not care what Heavy says – he is going to end this as fast as possible.

He is about to put his stethoscope on when Heavy stops him.

“We need to talk.”

“Not now,” he states, and tries again. Heavy grabs his hands.

“Yes. Now.”

He bristles.

“What else there is to say, huh?” He meets his wide eyes with a glare. “If you are uncomfortable by my presence you are going to have to learn to deal with it, as we are still employed under the same firm. I am not going to leave.”

Heavy’s eyes harden.

“Do not say things I did not say.”

“Don’t make me laugh,” he retorts. Cackles humorlessly. “You cannot lie to me. I saw the pity in your eyes. The _fear_. And what do you call these last weeks-?”

“I do not fear _you_.”

“Oh, yes? What I am, it is the same to me-”

Heavy stands up. He is furious.

“Do you think I would hate you for thing you cannot help?” He grabs his coat with tight fists. Agitated cooing comes from above. “For being different? For being you?” He releases him, and he is left gasping, grabbing at the side of the gurney, while Heavy looks down at him. “Do you even know me, Doktor?”

Heavy leaves the infirmary with broad steps, and he is left alone and confused.

\-----

That night, he searches for something to read among his books. His eyes stop on the empty space left by the Russian book he gifted to Heavy months ago.

He knows only one thing.

He made a mistake. Again.

\-----

Five days later, he makes up his mind.

He finds Heavy in the kitchen late at night, back towards him, preparing sandviches for tomorrow’s battle.

“Heavy,” he calls.

Heavy turns his head to look at him. He sighs. Gestures for him to get closer.

He obliges, preparing himself for what he has come to do.

“Is late, Doktor,” Heavy says, carrying on with his task. He points at a plate of tomato slices out of his reach. He hands it over; Heavy nods in thanks.

“I know,” he says. Rubs his face. “I could not sleep.”

They spend a moment in silence.

“I’m-”

“I am sorry,” he interrupts. Heavy closes his mouth. “I… I should not have said that. I know you are not like that. I was…” _Hurt. Angry at myself._ “Unfair.”

There is a pause.

“I will not say it is alright,” Heavy states. His stomach churns. “Would not be true. But I can understand.”

For a minute, the only thing that can be heard is the clink of Heavy’s knife against the plate as he cuts more ham.

“I am sorry too. I should not have lost temper so much.”

“It was within reason, I should say,” he replies. Makes a move to pat Heavy’s arm, then awkwardly retracts his hand.

Heavy sees this.

“That fear you said…” He stiffens. “I feared _this_.”

“… What do you mean?” His pulse quickens.

“I cannot give you what you want,” Heavy states. His heart breaks all over again, but he is more prepared this time. He does not react. “But I don’t want to lose Doktor. You are very important friend for me.”

“… I see.”

The way Heavy makes his sandviches is almost an art. Bread; one, two, three, four tomato slices; one, two lettuce leaves; cheese slice, ham slice, bologna; cheese slice, ham slice, bologna; bread. One, two, three, four, five square sandviches go to the pile.

“I would not want to, either,” he says at last, realizing it at the same time. “Lose you, I mean.”

Heavy stops and looks at him.

Gives him a lopsided smile.

“Is good place to begin,” he says.

And he grabs all the sandviches together and cuts them in half.

\-----

It is awkward at first.

Sometimes, when their gazes meet, they look away for a moment. But he mentally slaps himself and forces his eyes to find Heavy’s, and they both nod.

It is enough.

\-----

After a while, they are in sync again.

“Ready to charge!”

“Go, Doktor!”

He deploys the Über and they jump in front of the level three sentry and dispenser the enemy Engineer set up in front of the control point. They are in pieces in a matter of seconds. Their maker attempts to run for his life, but Heavy reaches him with his bullets first.

The team can capture now.

“Woohoo!” yells Scout, running past them to stand on the point. Soldier trudges behind him, and puts a hand in their shoulders.

“Good work, privates! That is what I call teamwork!”

“Thank you, Soldier,” Heavy says, and looks at him, smiling.

He smiles back, his heart beating fast. He has missed this.

\-----

One afternoon, he is tending to his doves when he hears a knock on the door.

“Doktor?”

“Come in!” he shouts, puzzled. It has been a while since Heavy has come to find him in their free time.

Heavy steps into the infirmary and waits until he finishes feeding his lovely birds. When he turns to look at him, he finds he is watching them curiously, almost fondly.

He feels a pang in his chest. He dismisses it quickly.

“Sorry, I was just finishing. What do you need, Heavy?”

Heavy catches himself and looks sheepish. He looks at the floor and shuffles his feet.

“I just tended Sasha and I wondered… if you’d want to play? Chess match?”

There is a storm inside him. A warm feeling battles his apprehension to spend more time with Heavy. He feels afraid, afraid to fail again and fall, but he also feels happy, wanted.

He feels the choice he makes now will be defining.

Finally, he smirks.

“Not afraid of losing again?”

Heavy looks up and grins at him.

“That spirit…” He laughs. “I like it, Doktor!”

\-----

They do not always know what to say.

Sometimes, they stumble over their words, they leave things unsaid.

But they are getting better. They are finding their ground again.

They are regaining confidence. And trust.

\-----

One day, Heavy says it again.

“I _love_ this doktor!”

This time he knows what he means. He knows it is an expression of the admiration and care Heavy has for him, as his comrade in arms and his best friend. It hits him that he _is_ , in fact, loved, if not in the way he first thought, or in the way he would like to be.

The thought leaves him a bittersweet feeling.

Heavy flinches. He lowers Sasha and turns to look at him, a question in his eyes.

“It is okay, Heavy. I know.”

He knows.

And he would rather lose all his souls than lose Heavy’s love.

\-----

Months have passed since the day he bared his soul.

They are finally where he wants to be.

They read peacefully their books over cups of black tea. They play chess in the evenings. He tells Heavy about his latest discoveries on baboon lungs as he prods his liver and tries to keep Archimedes out of him. Heavy guffaws at his jokes in the rec room, when the whole team gets together to relax.

In battle, they are a force to be reckoned with. They are unbeatable. 

He burns with pride and admiration as he watches the giant mow down his enemies with Sasha. He feels proud of having the privilege of meeting this man, working with him, being close to him.

And if his heart stutters a bit with every “I _love_ this doktor!” Heavy utters…

Well, that is his cross to bear.

**Author's Note:**

> I felt in the mood to write one-sided romance, and [Wireskull](https://wireskull.tumblr.com) suggested me this lovely prompt on Discord. ~~Suffer~~
> 
> Also happy belated birthday, Blake; your server is lovely :')
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this story \o/
> 
> A/N: I actually wrote this from a positive perspective and I'm pretty glad for the outcome. They are doing really well, and they're happy, and I think that's, in the end, what matters :)
> 
> \-----
> 
> I'm on Tumblr ([justacoconut-tf2.tumblr.com](https://justacoconut-tf2.tumblr.com)) and, more often than not, on Twitter ([@aifastic](https://twitter.com/aifastic))


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